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THE DAILY OAIUO WJf.IiETISi SUNDAY MORNING, JUNK 18, 1S82.
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The (rich Brido of an englishman.
A STORY OF THESE TIMES.
Time, willi lovers, "Hies with swrd
lovvs' win;" tliey neither feel nor heed
it as it passes, so all too lull of haste
the moments seem. They urn to thein
replete with love, and happiness, mid
sweet content. To-day is an accom
plished joy, to-morrow will dawn for no
other purpose but to Initio them to
gether. So they think and ao they be
lieve. llodnpy has interviewed the old man,
her uncle; has told him of his tfivat and
lasting love for this pearl among women;
lias described, in a very few word,,, am
without bombast, bis admiration fo.
Mona; and llrian Scully (though will
miflicient national pride to suppress al
undue delight at the-young man's pro
posal) has given a heart v consent to
their uni and is in reality Haltered
and pleased bevond measure at thi."
match for "his girl."
To bis mother, however, ho has sent
no word of Mona, knowing only too
well how the news of his approaching
marriage with this "outer barbarian"
(as she will certainly deem his darling)
will be received, It is not cowardice
that holds his pen, as were all the world
to kneel at his feet and implore him or
bribe him to renounce his love, all such
pleading and bribing would he in vain.
It is that, knowing argument to be use
less, he puts off the evil hour that may
bring pain to his mother to the last mo
ment. When she knows Mona she will love
her, who could help it? so he argues;
and for this reason he keeps silence un
til such time as, his marriage being a
nit accompli, hopeless expostulation will
e of no avail, and will, therefore, bo
Meanwhile, the hours go "laden with
golden grain." Every day makes Mona
dearer and more dear, her sweet and
guileless nature being one calculated to
create, with growing knowledge, an in
creasing admiration and tenderness.
Indeed, each happy afternoon spent
with her serves but to forge another
link in the chain that binds him to her.
To-day is so cool, so calm, so bright,
that Geoffrey's heart grows glad within
him as he walks along the road that
leads to the farm, bis gun upon his
shoulder, bis trusty dog at his heels.
From the cabins, pale wreaths of
smoke rise slowly, scarce stirred bv the
passing wind, (Joins bv one of these
small tenements, before which the in
evitable pig is wallowing in an unsavory
pool, a voice comes to him, fresh anil
joyous, and plainly full of pleasure, that
thrills through his whole being. It is
to him what no other voice ever has
been, or ever can be again. It is Mona's
Again she calls to him from within.
"Is it you?" she says. "Come in here,
Cieolli ey. 1 want you."
She is sitting beloreaspinniiig-wheel,
and is deftly drawing the wool through
her lingers; brown little fingers they
are. but none the less dear inliis sight.
"I'm here," sho cries, in the glad
happy tones that have been ringing tlieir
change) in bis heart all day.
An old crone is sitting over a turf
fire that glows and burns dimly in its
subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a
three-legged not, in which boil the "pra
ties" for the ''boys' " dinners, who will
becoming home presently from their
"What luck to find yon here," says
Geoffrey, stooping over the industrious
tijiimier, and (after the slightest hesita
tion) kissing her fondly in spite of the
presence of the woman, who is regard
ing them with silent curiosity, largely
mingled with admiration.
Mona, who has blushed rosy red at
his kiss, is now beaming on her lover,
and has drawn back her skirts to admit
of his coining a little closer to her. Ho
is not slow to avail himself of this invi
tation, and is now sitt ing with his arms
thrown across the back of the wooden
chair that holds Mona, and with eyes
full of heartfelt gladness fixed upon lier.
"Von look like Marguerite. A very
lovely Marguerite," says (Jeolfrey, idly,
gazing at her rather dreamily.
"Kxccpt that my hair is rolled up.and
s too dai k, isn't it? I have lead about
her. and J once saw a picture of Mar
guerite in the gallery in I ublin, ami it
was very beautiful. I remember it
brought tears to my eves, and Aunt
Anastasia said I was too fanciful to bo
happy. Her story is a very sad one,
"Very. And you are not a bit like
her, after all," says (ieolfrey, with sud
den compi Hon, "because von are go-
tntr to U! us happy as the days are long,
if 1 can make you so."
"One must not hope for perfect hap
piness on this earlh.Says Mona, grave
ly; "but at least I know." with a soft
and trusting glance at him, "I Hhall bo
happier than most people "
41 What a darling you are!" says Hod
ney, in a low tone: and then something
pise follows, hat, had she own it, wo 3
have caused the weather-beaten old ncr
Bon at the fire another thrill of tender
"What uru you doing?" asks Giof-
1 1 ftRTINGTOHOlOCOWN
m I HITAMBOUNPTORII
a m.' i, i ,-w.
frey, presently, when they have returned
to every day life.
"I am spinning llax for Hetty, because
she has rheumatism in her poor shoul
der, and can do nothing, ana this much
ti t x must he finished by a certain time.
I have nearly got through my portion
now," says Mona; "and then we can go
"When I bring you to my home," says
Geoffrey, "I shall have you painted lit
just tha't gown, and with ft spinning
wheel before you; and it shall bo hung
in the gallery among the other very in
feriorbeauties." "Where?"' says Mona, looking up
"OliJ at home, you know," says Mr.
Rodney, quickly, discovering his mis
take. Tortlie moment ho had forgot
ten bis former declaration of poverty,
or, at least, his consenting silence,
when she had asked him about it.
"In the National Gallery, do you
menu?" asks Mona, with a pretty, puz
zled frown on her brow. "Oh, mi, Geof
frey; I i.hoiildn't like that at all. To be
Ma red at by everybody it wouldn't be
nice,. would it?"
lbidney laughs, in an inward fashion,
biting his lip and looking down.
"Very well; you shan't be put there,"
he savs. "l!ut nevertheless you must
be prepared for the fact that you will
undoubtedly be stared at by the com
mon herd, whether you are in the Na
tional Gallery or out of it."
"Hut why?" says Mona, trying to
read his face. "Aiu 1 ho different from
"Very uilTercnt," says Rodney.
"Tha't is what I ant afraid of always,"
says Mona, a litlle wistfully.
"Don't lie afraid. It is quite the cor
rect tiling to be eccentric nowadays.
Oho in nowiiriH If not bizarre," says
Koduey, laughing; "sol dare say you
will 1'uid yourself the very height (if the
"Now I think you are making fun of
me," says Mona, smiling sweetly, and
lifting her hand she pinches bis ear
lightly, and very softly, lest sho should
Here the old woman at the fire, who
has been watching with anxious man
ner t he contents of the iron pot, takes
it off the lire, and snilling its steaming
contents, says, "Maybe ye'd ate a pra
tie, would ye, now?" and Mona and
Geoffrey, with laughing eyes, sit down
and do honest just ice to the homely fare.
"It might be that ye'd take a dhrop
of new milk, too," says Hetty, on hospit
able thoughts intent," nlaring beloro
her visitors a little jug or milk she has
all day been keeping apart, poor soul,
for her own delectation.
Not knowing this, Mona and Geof
frey (whose llask is empty) accept the
proffered milk, and make merry over
their impromptu feast, while in the
background the old woman smiles upon
them and utters little kindly sentences.
Ten minutes later, having bidden
their hostess a hearty farewell, they
step out into the open air and walk to
wards the farm.
"Von have never told me how many
people are in vour house," says Mona,
presently. "Tell me now. I know
about your mother, and," shyly, "about
Nicholas; but is there any one else?"
"Well, Jack is home by this time, I
suppose that's my second brother; at
least lm was expected yesterday; and
Violet Mansergh is very often 'therm
and as a rule, you know, there is always
somebody; and that's ail.''
"Is is Violet Mansergh a pretty
girl?" a:ksMona, grasping instinctive
ly at the fact that any one called Violet
Munsergh may be a possible rival.
"Pretty? No. Hut she dresses very
swagger, and always looks nice, and
generally correct all through," says Mr.
"I know," says Mona, sadly.
"She's the girl my mother wanted mo
to marry, you know," goes on Itodney,
unobservant, as men always are, of the
small signals of distress hung out by
"Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then,
with downcast eyes, "but I (iVm't know,
because you never told me before."
"1 thought I did," savs Geoffrey, wak
ing slowly to a sense of the situation.
" Well, you didn't," says Mona. "Are
you engaged to her?"
"If 1 was, how could I ask you to
marry rue?" returns he, in a tone so hurt
that she grows abashed.
"I hope she isn't in love with you,"
she says, slowly.
"You may bet anything you liko on
that," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. "She
cares for mo just about as much as I
care, for her, which means exactly noth-
"I am very glad," says Mona, in alow
"Ilecause 1 could not bear to think
any one was made unhappy by me. Jt
Would serin us though soine evil eye
was resting on our love." savs Mona.
raising her thoughtful, earnest eyes to
ins. "it must be a sad thin;? when our
happiness causes the misery of others."
" Vet even were it so you would love
"I shall always love you," says the
girl, with sweet seriousness, ''better
than life, lint in that case I should al
ways, too, have a regret."
"There is no need for regret, dar
ling," says he. "I nm heart whole.
1 know no woman that loves me, or for
niiom- eiiccuou i snouiu usk, except
"I am indeed dear to you, I think,"
savs Mona. softlv and thankfully.
ing a little pale through the intensity of
hit ciinu ion,
"i'erditiun catch my soul, but T do
love thee,'" replies he, quilt as soflly.
Then she is pleased, and slips her
band into his, and foes along the quiet
road beside him with a heart in which
high jubilee le Ids swav. Vet after a
few moments the Miiile'fadrs from her
ion bile bps and a pensive expression
takes its pluce.
"I think I d like to see myself in a
regular evening gown," she saui, wist
fully. "So should I,"mvh Uoiln-y. eagerly,
but incorrectly; "at least, not iiisclf,
but you in something handsome', yon
know, open at the neck, and vour pietly
arms bare, as they were the 'lirst day J
"How you remember that, now!" says
Mona, with a heavenly smile, and a
faint pressure of the lingers that still
rest in his. "Yes, I should like to be
sure before I marry you that-that-fashionable
clothes would become me.
Hut of course," regretfully, "you will
understand I haven't a gown of that
sort. I once sat in Lady frighten "h
loom while her maid dressed her for
dinner; so I know all about it."
She sighs, then looks at tho sky, and
"And do you know," she says, with
charming vahrtlc, not looking at him,
bfit luting a blade of grass in u distract
ingly pretty and somewhat pensive
fashion, "do you know her neck and
arms are not a patch on mine?"
" You needn't tell mo that. I'm posi
tive they couldn't be named in tho same
day," says Geoffrey, enthusiastically,
who never In his life saw Lady Crlghtoh,
or her neck or arms.
".No, they ure nut. Geoffrey, peoplo
look much better when they are beauti
fully dressed, don't they?"
"Some women in the great world
overdo it," ho replies, "and choose
things and colors utterly unsuited to
their style. They are slaves to fashion.
"My lovo III hnr Httlro (loth ihnw lior Wlt
II ilolh hii well lii'Cinno hiT.'"
"Ah, how you Hatter!" says Mona.
Nevertheless, being a woman, and the
(lattery being directed to herself, she
takes it kindly.
"No, you must not think that. To
wear anything that becomes you must
be the perfection of dressing. Why
wear a Tarn O'Shauter hat when one,
looks hideous in it? And then too much
Htudy spoils effect; you know what
" '. ciuvttss Hhon-KtrliiK, in whoso tie i
1 1 it rt wIM civility, I
ll.M's iiKiru lu'wiu li mo thiol wbon art
liio ih'(m;1ko in every purl.' "
"How pretty that is! Yet I should
like you to see me, if only for once, as
you have seen others," says Mona.
"1 should like it too. And it could be
managed, couldn't it? I suppose I could
.jet. you a dress."
He says this quickly, yet fearfully. If
die should take his proposal badly what
diall be do? He stares with Haltering
persistency upon a distant donkey that
nlorns a neighboring Held, and calmly
iwaits fate. It is for once kind to him.
Mona, it is quite evident, fails to see
inpropriety in bis speech.
"Could you?" she says, hopefully.
Mr. Uodney, basely forsaking the
ionkey, returns to bis mutton. "Thero
mist be a dressmaker in Dublin," he
ays, "and we could write to her. Don't
on know one?"
" don't, hut 1 know Lady Mary and
Miss I'.lake always get their things from
a woman called Manning."
"Then Manning it shall be," says
Geoffrey, gayly. "I'll runup to Dublin,
and if you give me your measure I'll
bring a gown back for you."
"Oh, no. don't," says Mona, earnest
ly, then she stops short, and blushes a
faint sweet crimson.
"Hut why?" demands he, dense as
men will be at times. Then, as she re
fuses to enlighten his ignorance, slowly
the truth dawns upon him.
"Do you mean that you would really
miss me if I left vou for only one day?''
be asks, delightedly. "Mona, tell 'mo
"Well, then, sure vou know I would,"
confesses she, shyly but honestly.
Whereupon rapture ensues that lasts
for a full minute.
"Wry well, then; I shan't leave you;
but you shall have that dress all the
same," he says.
And that evening Geoffrey indites a
letter to Mrs. Manning, Grafton street,
Dublin, that brings a smile to the lips
of that cunning modiste.
In due course the wonderful gown ar
rives, and is made welcome at the farm,
where (ieolfrey too puts in an appear
ance about two hours later.
Mona is down at the gate waiting for
him. evidently brimful of information.
"Well, you have got it?" asks he, in a
"Yes, I have got it," also in a sub
dued whisper. "And, oh, Geoffrey, it
is just too lovely! It's downright de
licious; and satin, too! It must,"-reproach
fully "have cost a great deal,
and after all you told me about being
poor.' Hut ," with a sudden change of
lone, forgetting reproach, and extrava
gance and eveiytlung, "it is exactly the
color I love best, and what I have been
dreaming of for ii'nw."
i in n on yon," says (leoiirey.
with some hesitation.
yet plainly Idled with an overwhelming
desire to show herself to him without
loss of time in the adorable gown. "If
I should be seen! Well, never mind,
I'll risk it. (Jo down to the little green
glade in the wood, and I'll bo with you
before you can say Jack Kobinson.
She disappears, and Geoffrey, obedi
ent to orders, lounges off to the green
glade, that now no longer owns rich
coloring, but is si rewn with leaves from
the gaunt trees that stand in solemn
order like grave sentries round it.
lie might have invoked Jack Uobin
son a score of times had he so wished,
be might even have gone for a very re
spectable walk, before his eyes are
again gladdened by a sight of" Mona.
Minutes have given place to minutes
many times, when, at length, a figure
wrapped in a long cloak and with a
light woolen shawl covering her bead,
comes quickly towards him 'across the
rustic bridge, and under the leafless
trees to where be is standing.
Glancing round fearfully for a mo
ment, as though desirous of making
sure that no strange eyes are watching
her movements, Mie lets the loose cloak
fall to the ground, and, taking with
careful haste the covering from her
head, slips like Cinderella from her or
dinary garments into all the glories of
a'-ffgown.. She steps a little to one
side, and, throw ing up her head with a
faint touch of coquetry that sits very
sweetly on her, glances' triumphantly at
(ieolfrey. as though fully conscious that
she is looking as exquisite as a dream.
The dress is composed of satin of that
peculiar pule blue that in some side
lights eppears as white. It is open at
the neck, and has no sleeves to speak of.
As though some kindly fairy had in
deed born at her heck and call, and had
watched with careful eyes the cutting
of therobe.it fits to a charm. Upon
her head a little mob-cap, a very marvel
of blue satin and old lace, rests loving
ly, making still softer the soft tender
lace beneath it.
There is a spaikle in Mona's eves, a
slight severing of her lips, that bespeak
satisfaction and betray her very full of
innocent appreciation of her own beau
ty. She stands well back, with her
head held proudly up, and with her
hands lightly clasped before her. Her
altitude is full of unstudied grace.
Geoffiey is quite dumb, and stands
gazing at her, surprised at the amazing
change a stuff, a color, can make in so
short a lime. Hcauliful she always is
in his sight, but he wonders that until
now it never occurred to him what a
Beii8alloii she is likely to create iu tho
London world. When at, last he does
give way to speech, driven tobieak his
curious silence by something in her
face, he says nothing of the gown, but
"Oh, Mona, will you ulwavs love ino
ns you do now ?''
His tone is full of sadness and long
ing and something akin to fear. As ho
gazes on and wonders at her marvelous
beauty, for an instant (a most unworthy
instant) ho distrusts her. Yet surely
never was more groundless doubt sus
tained, as one might know to look upon
hereyes and mouth, for in the one lies
honest love, and In the other firmness
Her face changes, lb, has made no
mention of the treasured gown, has
Said no little word ol praise.
"I have disappointed you," she says,
tremulously, tears rising quickly, '"f
lim a failure! 1 urn not like the others "
"You ure the inoht beuutiful woman I
ever saw in all my life," returns Uod
ney. with some passion.
"Then you are really pleased? I am
just what you want me lobe? Oh! how
you frightened me!" says tho girl, lay
ing her hand upon her heart with a
pretty gesture of relief.
"Don disk mo lo natter you. You
will get plenty to do that by and I
sas Geoffrey, rather jealously
Uv and bv I shall bo vour wife." savs
Mona, archly, "and then my days for
receiving Hattery will be at an end.
Sure you needn't grudge nie a few pret
ty words now."
"Yes, that is true," he says, in a cu
rious tone, in answer to her words, his
eyes fixed moodily upon tho ground.
Then suddenly he lifts his head, and
as his gaze meets hers some of the
truth and sweetness that belongs to her
springs from her to him and restores
him once again to his proper self.
He smiles, and, turning, kneels be
fore, her in mock humility that savors of
very real homage. Taking her hand, he
presses it lo his lips.
"Will your majesty deign to confer
some slight sign of favor upon a very
His looks betray his wish. And Mona,
stooping, very willing bestows upon
him one of the sweetest little kisses im
aginable. "I doubt, your queen lacks dignity,"
she says, with a quick blush, when she
has achieved her tender crime.
"My queen lacks nothing," says Geof
frey. Then, as he feels the rising wind
that is soughing through the barren
trees, be says, hurriedly, "My darling.
you will catch cold, l'ut on your w raps
"Just in one moment." savs the wil
ful beauty. "Hull must liist look at
myself altogether. I have only seen
myself in little bits up to this, my glass
is so small.
Uunniiig over to the river that (lows
swiftlv but serenely a few yards from
her, she leans over the bank and gazes
down lingeringly and with love into the
dark depths beneath that cast up to her
her ow n fair image.
Geoffrey approaches her and taking
her hainl'liolli lean over the brink Hiid
suivey themselves in Nature's glass.
The same thought tills thein both.' As
they are there in the water so (pray
tliev) "may we be together in life."
Yet all things in this passing world
know tin end. In one short moment the
perfect picture is spoiled. A huge
Plack dog, bursting through the under
wood. Iliugs himself lovingly upon Mo
ri, i, threatening every moment to destroy
"It is Mr. Moore's retriever!" cries
Mona. hurriedly, in a startled tone. "I
must run. Down, Fan! down! Oh, it
lie catches me here, in this dress, what
w ill he think? (Juick, Geoffrey, give me
She tucks up her dignified train in a
most . iindignilied haste, while Geoffrey
covers up all the finery w ith the crimson
shawl. The white cloud is once more
thrown over the dainty cap, all the pret
ty coloring vani-hes out of sight; and
Mona. after one last lingering glance at
Gcollrcy, follows its example. She, too.
Hies across the rural bridge into the
covert of her own small domain.
en a it i: II IX.
It is only yesterday that the lover?
parted, and this is Sunday. Geoffrey,
as true to .Mona as the magnet to the
loadstone, crosses the rustic bridge that
leads into the Moore plantations, whith
er llridgct infoi ins him, Mona has gone,
and finds her silting on a bank, laugh
ing and trying to recover her breath
alter an exciting chase after a young
turkey which, evidently determined to
upend' bis Sunday out, bad wandered
in this direction.
"1 hardly think this is Sunday work."
she says, lightly; "but the poor little
thing would have died if left out all
"Yes. and might have haunted you
ever after," says Geoffrey. "Conic, let
us go for a walk."
"To the old fort?" asks Mor.x, start
ing to her feet.
"Anywhere you like," answers Geof
frey. So they start, in a lazy, happv-go-lucky
fashion, for their walk, convers
ing as they go, of themselves principal
ly, as all true lovers will.
Hut the fort, tin this evening at least,
is never reached. Mona, coming to a
stile, seats herself comfortably on the
top of it, and looks w ith mild content
"Are you going no farther?" asks
Uodney, hoping sincerely she will say
"No." She does say it.
"It is so nice here," she says, with a
soft sigh, and a dreamy smile, where
upon lie climbs and seats himself beside
her. The evening is line; thp heavens
promise to be fair; the earth beneath is
calm and full of silence as becomes a
Sabbath eve; yet, alas! Mona strikes a
chord that presently Ilings harmony to
"Tell me about your mother," she
says, folding her hands easily in her
lap. "I mean what is she like? Is she
cold, or proud, or stand-off?" There is
keen anxiety in her tone.
"Kb?" says Geoffrey, rather taken
aback. "Cold" and "proud" he cannot
deny, even to himself are words that
suit his mother rather more than other
wise. "I mean," says Mona, (lushing a vivid
scarlet, "is she stern?"
"Oh, no," nays Geoffrey, hastily, re
covering himself just iu time; "she's all
right, you know, my mother; and you'll
ike her aw fully when when you know
her. and when when she knows you."
"Will that take her long?" asks Mo
na. somewhat wistfully, Coding without
understanding, some want in his voice.
" 1 don't see how it could take any one
long." savs Uodney.
" Ah! that is because you are a man,
and because you love me," says this as
tulo reader of humanity, "liiit women
are so different. Supposesuppose she
never gets to like me?"
"Well, even that awful misfortune
might be survived. We can live in oui
own home 'at ease,' as the old song
says, until she conies to her senses. Uy
the bye, do you know vou have never
asked me about your future homo-my
own place, Leighton Hall? and yet it ii,
rather well worth asking about, be
cause, though small, it is one of the old
est and prettiest places in the country. "
"Leighton Hall," she repeats, slowly,
fixing upon him her dark eves that are
always so full of truth and honesty.
"Hut you told me you were poor; that
a third son "
"Wasn't much," interrupted Geoffrey,
with an attempt nt eaielessnrss that
rather falls through beneath the gaze of
those searching cye,i. "Wiill.no more
he is, you know, as a rule, unless smut
kind relative comes to his assistance."
"lint you told me no maiden aunt bad
ever come to your assistance," says Mo
''In that I spoke the truth," says Mr
Itodnev, willi a shameless laugli, "be
cause It was uu uncle who left me somt
"You have not be-ii quito tnie with,
nie," says Mona, in u curious way, nevei
removing her gaze, and never leturninp
Ids smile. "Are you rh ii, then, if you
are not poor?"
"I am a long way off being rich,"say
the young man who is palpably amused
in spile of a valiant effort to suppress'
all outward signs of enjoyment. "I'm
awfully poor w hen om pared with soinf
fellows. I dure say I iiuisl come iu foj
something when my other uncle dies,
but at present I have only fifteen hun
dred pounds a year."
"On;,"' says Mona. "Do you know
Mr. Moore li'as no more than' that, and
we think him very rich indeed! No
you have not been open willi me; yoi
should have told me. I haven't evei
thought of you to myself as being t
rich man, Sow, I shall have to beyii
and think of you all over again in quit)
another light.'" She is cvuttiitly dcepl)
"JJut, my darling child, I can't hell
the fact that George Uodney left me the
Hall," savs Geoffrey, deprecat ingly, re
ducing the space hetweeii them to a
mere nothing, and slipping his arm
round her waist. "And if I was a beg
gar on the face of the earth, I could not
love you more than I do. nor could you,
I hope" reproachfully "love me bet
The reproachful ring in his voice does
its intended work. The soft heart
thrown out resentment, and once more
gives shelter to gentle thoughts alone.
She even consents to Rodney's laying
his cheek against hers, and faintly re
turns the pressure of his hand.
"Yet 1 think you should have told
me," she w hispers, as a last fading cen
sure. "Do ywi kiunv you have made
me very unhappy?"
"Oh, no, I haven't, now," says Rod
ney, reassuringly. "You don't look a
bit null, ippy; you look as sweet as an
"You neuTsnwan a:e:t I. so you can't
say," says Mona, sti'i s.idly severe.
"Audi inn mill. pp . Ii'".v "will your
mother, Mrs. liodie y, bko your marry
ing nie, when vmi lu'i'.'h; marry so many
other peoplc-'th.it Miss Mansergh, for
"Oh, nonsense:'' rays Uodney. who is
in high gooil-hoinor and can see no
rks ahead "When my mother sees
on she will fall in love' with oii on
the spot, as will cvenbody rise. Hot
look here, you know, jou nnisn't call
In r Mrs. Rodney,"
' WhvV" savs Mona. "I couldn't
well call her an thing else until I know
"That isn't her name at all," says
Geoiiit y. "My father was a baronet,
yon know; she' is l.a-lv Uodney."
"U hat!" s.ivs Mona, And' thru she
grows quite pale, and. slipping off the
stile, st 1 1 id a lew yards a way from him.
"That puts an end to everything."
she savs, in a dreadful little voice that
got s to his In-art. "at once. 1 could
never face any one w it h a title. What
will she say when she hears you are go
ing to marry a tanner's niece? It is
shiiinefnl of "you," says Mona. with as
much indignation as if the young rn m
opposite to her. who is making strenu
ous but. vain efforts to speak, bail just
been convicted of some heinous crime.
"It is disgraceful! wonder at you!
That is twice you have deceived me"."
"If you would only hear me "
"1 have heard too much already. I
won't listen to any more. 'Iidy Rod
nev !' I dare sa "'with awful meaning
in lier toni'- "''e( have got a title Umi'."
Then, sternly, "Have you?"
"No, no, indeed. I give you my hon
or, no," savs Geoffrey, veiy earnestly,
feeling that I'ate has been more kind to
him iu that she hasdc nird him a handle
to bis name.
"You are sure?" doubtfully.
" I ttei ly ceitain. "
"And your bioiher?"
".lark is only Mr. Rodney too."
,'T don't I'le.ui him,"-severely. "I
niean the broiher vou call "Did Nick'
Oil M'k indeed!"" with suppressed an
Kf'i. "Oh.be is only called Sir Nicholas.
Nobody thinks much of that. A baro
net is really never of the slightest im
portance," says Gcollrcy, anxiously,
lei ling exactly as if he were making an
apology for bis In other.
"That is not coriect," savs Mona.
"Wehavfta baronet here. Sir Owen
O'Connor, and be is thought a great
deal of. I know all about it. hven
Lady Mary would have mariied him if
he bad asked her, though his hair is the
color of an orange. Mr. Rodney" lav
ing a dreadful stress upon the prefix to
his name "go hack to Kngland and"
tragically "forget me!"
"I shall do nothing of the kind," says
Mr. Uodney, indignantly. "And if you
address me in thai way again I shall cut
"Much better do that" gloomily
"than marry me. Nothing comes of
unequal marriages but worry, and de
spair, and miserv, and thutli,'' says Mo
na, in a fearful tone, emphasizing each
prophetic word w ith a dismal nod.
"You've been reading novels," says
"No, I haven't," says Mona, indig
nantly. "Then you are out of your ruind,"
"No, I am not. Anything but that;
and to be rude" slow Iv "answers no
purpose. Rut I have some common
sense. I hope."
"I hate women with common sense.
In plainer language it means no heart.'1
To be Continued.
What Iowa Girls Aro Taught.
At the Iowa agricultural college every
girl in tho junior das ha learned to
make good bread, weighing and measur
ing their ingredients, mixing, kneadin",
ami baking ami regulating her lire.
Kaoh has also been taught to make yeast
and to bake biscuits, puddings, pirn,
and cukes of various kinds; hnwtocook
a roast, broil a steak and make a cup of
coffee, how to stuff and roast a turkey,
make oyster soup, prepare materials for
other soups, steam and ,nas, potatoes so
that they will melt in the mouth; and, in
short, to prepare a lirst-clas.s meal, com
bining both Mihslantial and fancy dish
es, in good style. Theory and manual
skill have goim luuid in hand. Vast
stores of learning have been accumulat
ed in the arts of canning, preservin",
and pickling fruits, and they have taken
practical lessons in the details of house
hold tniinagemeiit.siieh as house-furnish-uig,
care of beds and bedding, washitn'
and ironing, care of the sick, etc. The
g'ul-i, we are informed, are also thorough
ly grounded in science, inatlienisiiics
and Kngli.di literature. If then- is any
thing that, challenges tho unlimited re
spect and devotion of the masculine
mind it is the ability in woman to man
age well her own household.
Great excitement has been eau i"d nt
Siirnia, Out., by tin epidemic of vphoid
fever, caused by the system of box.
drains. About fifty persons, the major
ity of thorn females, aro buffu'iu from
Chills mid Fever.
Simmon" l.lvi-r IdKio
litlur mmiii In-nkx I u
rliilM mill (Hiiii-n tliu
frVl-r (lilt III till' oHtflll.
Il ctin-K uh"ii ull (Hie r
r noil oh lull,
S ck Headache.
I' r lim ri! ii-r mid euro
(if tit lH lllCil'O IIIL.' lIlK-
tiiH ini' N'miiMiim Liv
DVSIM'VI 'SI A.
Tim Ui'i'iiluiur will kh i vvly cum thin U rrllilii
iIIm iihii. VVi: iii-h' rl (iiiiliitliciilly whiit vvu know to
hliimlil ii I ..- r. -.-i r'l- l mm u 1 1 i It i ii l; HUniKiit. N il
ium c 1 1- . j. '- il.i- ioiiiii-i r'-i'iiliirlw ol tin- li a tin.
I In c-lon-I i -e no-li Inklni! Siiiinhhih l.lvi-r
Ui yiilni.il. i h. Ii cnilri-H, niilil mill ( lli-climl.
Onu nr two tiilili-KiKiciifiilM will ri lli-vo nil the
IrolllllllH lllCllll-lll l() li llllllllll" lull', Mil Ii bh Nuunvu
Di.liu-KH. Priittt-lin-HH, PiKlne ulH-r i uilng, u hit
ler hiu! I in-1 1- In t In iniiiilli.
I'liniiiK miiy avoid nil Mill' l,n liy m cuhli'iinlly
titkini! domi ol Simriinim l.ivi r Hcieil.iinr lo U-i-p
the livi.-r In In ulliiy in linn
HAD I II MOAT 1 1 !
unirnilly nrl-iiiK from iliHunlcn l elmnm-li, run
liv i-orn-iliil liv Inland SiniinnuN J.iv r Ki-i'uluior.
Slinni'iliit l.lvi-r K-u n Jut r ciinii i-rnilli uK-b thin ell
cai from In- h,iMi in, li iniiirf the iio,i cliur niirt
fruu Irnm ull i inpnrllKH
rlilliln ii -iiliW1! willi i filir won ; jn-r! in i r"
!i I h In n siiioii' i,- l.i.i-r Iti-t'ii.iitnr i n'liniiiifii r
id. A'ln I- 'C-'i in i v.i er.-ii". hi in III lr -in II, M
iiH-iMnin- 1 1 -.-iitt 'itiilrii-I.IU ; it lr, liuniri -
iiiel i lii-i liv I'ui i.j i-v liihlu. .
HLAI I i;ii i KIDNKYS
Mm! i.l In- .1 im-n-i -n nl I he llllllhli-r (irill. uii- frmii
IIiiii-i' i.l . li.-.nli, i . Ill -Ion' I hi) aciliiii of tlur
llvi-r fully iii. I Im. Hi I!..- k'dlR'JH Hint lilielih T will
Tnki-ni.W Hi -I'- Miiii.-. w Mi h Blum Inn) on
lln- wru.-rf On o , ', ir-iili- murk nu I th;uiituri- of
J. I I. Z 1 11 LI X iV CO..
l''nl i-;i!i: ti y ill! ilr.ii.vii !, .
4 'iv...-VT 3
I J Cannot, i-'tnv Wheio
It Is I '.( !.
Ill.ni niMi-m tt t ur, i! l y
THOMAS' Kt't.K'.TIiir oil..
A Unn-il .-i. k i f i-h lit yi r ntBi.il1!.;' wi .lt'vi--Jy
rim (I I -'. i ri nu word of
TAOMAS' r.CI.Kr 1HV Oil.
L'i. liitiioti poo- tl.rml If ri.ti il 'Hi oi l i!..c i.f
THOMAS' I '. LEi TI;U' OIL
Co'ili- ii (1 Collin ri-nirnl hy
THOMAV K'.'I.Ri.TKIC OIL
All threat nr.d lnti tlifi-.-iHi r. ri' rnn d l.y
TIloMAS' JM'I.KL'Tl!lC on,
A Ml; tun In cuu-J hy
T1I0M V IK'I.Kc T KIC Ol!..
Ilurtu uud front hlli- ro r. lii-v. . at nt.ee hy
THOMAS' KU.hlTKH' Ol!..
Always gives Mltinf.'lCtioll.
Sold by Medicine Dealers everywhere.
I'tici; .10c. and fl
FOSTKK, .Mll.liriiX & CO., I'lop'rs.
Ibiflalo. N. Y.
Titvri;tirn of sTimll mi l milium
nilli.illlU III (.Mill., I Tot Inll.llrl llll'l
lilmkn in fully jirntii-ti-l n lent t
iii.i-ih'v, iiicl infill. miHl . i i -,-i ii t. .r ,.
Our H.ii h(ul. fuliv l.'iiil. uiil
iriipr 1 l,l"l'i"' I'1""- ,'lry II. Ii.-i.rin
W IlL A 1 i-eiit Wi.i-k'y.iiiiih-iniM iii. I nu. ii th.
ly. Si o. nt oiii-o lor cximi.nt..ry
jfc n menhir, nn.1 pn-t r-cor.l. i iikh.
V l'i 1 1 IMvi.i.'.i.Ih .ii. i! il iriiix runt, tin t., "il
UllU inoiili.H on loin (.in. I toil. 7 1 l r
nliioc. A i lr. -q I I.DMMIM; ,V
p...... M I.ISIM t M, I 1 1 Jtf l i;i LttSullo
STOCKS r.'- iii.nno, in.
Wo w.iut n lvnl nci nt, in
even- town. Kc'llwit imitico-
tvlflil '"ei'is- in.il 1'uv to u ri-KKuml-
VlUU "' ",l"Ti'isI,.i: num. Writo Zor
F 11 A NIC ToOMKY,
AOKNT KOIl TIIIC DAI.lt OK
1 A X I E I! S I K A M K S( '1 S JO
(,'olt'H Dine Kiijiitio
and Murine Engines
ami Ioil l's.
KXKINKS A Sl'F.CI AliTY.
KAHM KXUINKS, MACHINISTS'
STKAM I'll MI'S
AM) MAT IIINKliY
OF ALL KINDS, BHLTIMi,
I'll I leys ami Oneral Supplies.
No. lilt, North Third Strcot,
tonijci, lliii'hu, Al.m
urake, Stillinniii, nl
ninny of tho best im-'d'-elnrj
known Hro cuni
Tonic, into n meuiumc
rant h vnrici! powon, n
to in.ika It Iho B11'
11lm.il I'nrilicr mid llltf
DomI flt'al t Ii .(St ronirt Ii
Kostorcr Mi'r 1'nril,
It chit Kheinn. itism.
filecpleiwiicM, & iliivni'M
01 tho Muninrn, llowcfH,
II I H I Lungs Liver ix Nullify,
Hair Bato udite
III. n.i.1, I in.nrr.1. nmi , , , -
Mml Ki-iiimniViil ll,iir lm. "nil other lumn. as It
iii, intviY uu. w rotMir. in. iicvcriiiioxic.uei, I liscox
UUUIUI OKiui w r, ya V.IICIII M J. N. V.
lpWlwliigjnlt llnyli.g pw m.
-?1B J I"
.wmtWi. t "III 1